


By his side

by Nyaar



Series: Crusaders [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Crusader deaths, Gen, I'm Sorry, It's bad to be a tank, Poor Rein is always hurt, The last one is supersad, though not intended, you can put slash googles on if you want, young Reinhardt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyaar/pseuds/Nyaar
Summary: Four times Balderich was there for Reinhardt when he was hurt, and one time he wasn't.





	By his side

**Author's Note:**

> These little drabbles are set in the same universe of Wait for It.

**1.**

“Look at me when I’m talking, boy!”

Reinhardt raised his head immediately. Blood from his broken nose rushed down his throat, and he almost choked trying to breathe and swallow at the same time. He sucked it up, though, eyes burning, not daring to complain. He was in enough trouble already.

“I will not tolerate this behaviour again, is that clear?” General von Alder’s brown eyes were stern. He was a huge man, big as a mountain--bigger than Reinhardt was, and he was gigantic at seventeen. “I don’t care what he said, who started what--and if you don’t understand that we’re here for a purpose bigger than ourselves, I’m kicking your arse back to boarding school, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he swallowed again and grimaced when the tears he had tried to contain spilled on his cheeks. Shit. As if being told off was not embarrassing enough. “Sorry, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Again,” his snort was like a stone slab on his shoulders, and Reinhardt gritted his teeth.

“I won’t disappoint you  _ again _ , sir.”

“Hope so,” the General smacked him on the back of the neck, hard, then walked away.

He had not dismissed Reinhardt just yet, so he could not leave or move--nor breathe without panting. A large hand pushed his head down without ceremony all of sudden, and a box of tissues appeared out of nothing in his field of view.

“Use these. And get out of here.”

 

**2.**

When he received a letter to present himself to a series of tests, Reinhardt was not expecting that his last assessment would be a hand-to-hand fight with General von Adler himself. He had seen him weight-lifting in the gym many times--damn, they had even trained together on occasion. He knew how strong he was and how he could bench him to the moon without breaking a sweat.

Yet, Reinhardt entered the ring with a wide grin; he was younger and faster. How difficult could it be to beat the old man?

 

After a while of exchanging blows where Reinhardt was not an inch closer to victory, he managed to connect an elbow to the General’s face. He spat blood and a tooth onto the mat, and something changed in his eyes. Reinhardt did not have time to understand what, though, because Von Adler threw him to the ground and grabbed him in an arm-bar wrench--all in seconds.

“Yield!”

Reinhardt had never lost a hand-to-hand combat while in the army, and he had never yielded, either. This was not going to be the first time, even if-- _ bloody hell _ . He gritted his teeth, right hand clawing at the mat as raw pain tore through his left arm.

“Don’t be so stubborn! Yield!”

“ _ Never _ !”

He roared when his shoulder popped out of its socket. The referees rang the bell to declared the combat had finished and scrambled to look for a doctor, leaving both combatants on the mat.

“You’re a big idiot,” the General snorted, then patted Reinhardt on the knee. “Come, let me see.”

“Sir, with all due respect--”

“Shut it, I’ve done this more than once,” he rolled his eyes, setting a large hand on the joint itself, just above his. “It’ll be worse the longer you leave it like this.”

Reinhardt took a sharp intake of breath when he grabbed his wrist, muscles screaming as he pulled his forearm. Sharp white pain lanced through his arm when the joint came together, and he squeezed his eyes so hard he could count stars.

Once he could breathe again, he noticed the General was not sitting by his side anymore. A hand rested atop his head, and he looked up. Von Adler was rubbing his jaw, a little  _ proud  _ smile on his lips.

“It was a good fight, boy. Welcome to my secret project.”

 

 

**3.**

When Reinhardt woke, the first thing he did was sit up and hold his throbbing head in his hands-- just they were not  _ his  _ hands, they were the huge cold hands of his armour. Then, he noticed his right wrist hurt like hell-- as his back, and  _ everything else _ , really.

“Easy,” two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders or, at least, two weights anchored him down from the shoulders. “There was a bit of a problem while we tested your armour. Do you remember anything? Can you tell me your name?”

“Reinhardt,” he said, grimacing and lowering his arms. The armour weighed a ton, and every single muscle in his body was aching and complaining at the effort. “Couldn’t stop the engine. I think.”

“You scared me for a moment,” Balderich’s brown eyes were warm and concerned as he patted his armoured shoulders, making a clunking noise. Then, he let go a relieved chuckle. “I’m glad I made you wear that ugly bucket of a helmet on your head.”

Reinhardt couldn't even see the helmet he wasn't wearing.  He didn't care about it either, given his present condition.  He spat on the ground a mixture of blood and dirt, then grimaced.

“Where are we?” Looking around, he decided figuring it out was just too much of an effort. The sun in the sky was too bright, and his head pounded like someone was hammering on it.

“Down a cliff. I tried to reach you before you fell, but I was too late,” Balderich got on his knees in front of him, giving him his back. “Can you grab onto my shoulders?”

“You carrying me like a kid?” Reinhardt groaned. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Already?” Balderich laughed and looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “But the question is, can you walk your way back up just like us senior citizens?”

“Ah, just help me up.”

Balderich grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up with a grunt. Reinhardt’s world tilted to the side as he moved, the colours went paler. His body weighted too much. Just--

  
  
  


When Reinhardt woke up again, he noticed most of his pain was a dull reminder of something that had gone pretty wrong. He was in Med bay, stripped down into a gown --eek. By his side, Balderich snored softly on a recliner.

He sighed at the thought of the old man carrying him on his back, but closed his eyes with a smile.

 

**4.**

There was a loud knock on the door, and Reinhardt covered his head with a pillow. It did not drown the sound of someone getting inside his room and pulling a chair by the bed, though.

“I could use my Lieutenant on the field, you know,” Balderich said, a pinch of humour on his voice.

“I can’t be arsed to work, today,” he said, voice muffled. Truth was, he had almost fell on his face when he tried to reach the loo. After he had zig-zagged back to his bed, the mere idea of moving an inch more to call in sick was unbearable.

The General removed the pillow from his face and put it aside, making him groan.

“Ah, you look like shit, Reinhardt,” he laughed.

“Screw you,” he grabbed the pillow back and tried to throw it at him, but it just reached his own chest. The effort almost left him breathless. “This is your fault, old man,” he wheezed pitifully.

The General had been quite sick a week before, and every single one of their platoon was falling to whatever virus had attacked him first.

“It is, sorry,” he said and put a hand over his forehead. Reinhardt closed his eyes. “You’ve a temperature. Have you taken anything yet?”

“I’m fine…”

“Obviously. That’s why you’re lying there like an old rug,” Balderich snorted, exasperation permeating his voice. Yet, he ran his fingers through Reinhardt’s hair, pulling it away from his face before removing his hand completely.

  
  
  


After a short while, something touched Reinhardt’s forehead again. It was not a hand this time, but a cold, wet towel that reached up to his eyes.

“The doctor will come around soon. While we wait, I’ll give you a run through the classics we’ll be watching during the next two weeks--”

 

**5.**

Reinhardt woke up on his side. He was not on a bed, but on a thick military blanket sprawled on the ground. There was a hell of a noise outside; people screaming and running, vehicles speeding past the tent where he was. He was exhausted and disoriented, and the left side of his face burned and -- _ shit _ , he groaned because his eye hurt like stupid. What--Where was he?

An engine roared all of sudden, and he pushed himself up on his elbow. He gasped at the pain in his back, squeezing his eyes in a grimace. The roaring outside increased and he grabbed his head with one hand; there were airplanes bombarding his position, machine guns firing, people dying, and why--why in the world he could not see with both--

_ I won’t leave you! _

_ Be their shield. _

Reinhardt gasped for breath, but it would not come. He stared at the ground like an idiot, wheezing, his hand clawing the dark green blanket. He was still wearing his boots. His armour was in a pile in a corner, broken and bloodied; his plasma barrier generator had been destroyed hours ago, and the plating could only stop so many heavy rounds before bending against his body.

The noise continued raging outside, but it was not nearly as deafening as his heart thumping in his ears. His arms ached from pulling people out of rubble, from carrying them to a safe place--just to find out there was none left in Eichenwalde. 

He squeezed a fist against his mouth. He had tried. He had tried so hard to lead the other Crusaders, to get them to fall back safely with their soldiers, and yet, they all--  Balderich--

A thousand laughs, hugs, and beers spilled down his cheeks.

~~_ Be their shield. _ ~~


End file.
